


getting all bothered and hot

by haloud



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Fixation, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 07:10:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19807258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloud/pseuds/haloud
Summary: While working outside in the summer heat, Michael keeps cool in a way that doesn't stay cool for long.





	getting all bothered and hot

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from christina aguilera's "candy man" ;)
> 
> this fic is not for redistribution without my express permission.

In the dead of summer, Michael declares, “I’m gonna rebuild your porch.”

Alex pauses with his beer halfway to his mouth, starts to respond, then takes a deep swig instead. Temperatures haven’t dipped out of the triple digits all week, and the only think keeping them from a slow, sweaty death is the anxious whine of the generator that powers the cabin. As Michael has clearly lost his mind, Alex lightly picks up his phone from the table and thumbs over to message Kyle.

“Alex? You hear me?”

“Mmhm.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Calling a doctor, since clearly your brain has _already_ boiled inside your skull.”

Michael makes a silly noise somewhere between an offended snort and a fond laugh. He leans over to pluck the phone out of Alex’s hands, sending waves of Michael’s bathwater heat—normally so comforting and sweet but less welcome under the circumstances—washing over Alex’s skin.

“C’mon,” Michael says, “I already know a guy who knows a guy who can get me good stuff for cheap—”

“Are you building my porch out of meth?”

This time, Alex’s punishment is Michael rolling his eyes and stealing his beer. Empty-handed, Alex leans back and folds his arms and tries not to stare too obviously at the bob of Michael’s Adam’s apple as he drains the bottle dry. This much heat should be a mood-killer, and yet here he is. In Alex’s defense, every single thing Michael does with his mouth is fucking obscene, from drinking beer to whistling to the way the tip of his tongue flicks the back of his teeth every time he says Alex’s name.

“You’re the worst,” Michael opines, setting that bottle aside and getting up to fish through the fridge for another. He calls back, “What I’m _saying_ is that it won’t be expensive to get the wood.” He kicks the door shut and comes back to the couch with a drink in each hand. “ _And_ I’ve already checked to make sure it’ll match the rest of your house.” He props the icy glass of the beer against Alex’s forehead and, as Alex stares up at him, smiles a pouty little smile. Alex isn’t sure he knows he makes that look, which is a good thing, since it’s pretty damn powerful; but this time, at least, Alex manages to stand his ground.

“You’ll hurt yourself. It’s too hot to be working outside, especially with your body temperature. You’ve never had a fever before; who knows how hot you can get before it does serious damage? I’m not testing that and losing you to alien heat stroke for _home improvement_ of all things.”

“ _C’mon,”_ Michael says, whinier this time. He sets the drinks aside and sidles up close, straddling Alex’s lap, pushing his fingers through the hair on Alex’s temples and sending prickles of pleasure all over Alex’s skin. He’s way too hot, but Alex’s hands settle on his hips anyway and pin him in place. Michael Guerin has never been anything other than overwhelming, and there’s no reason he should stop that now.

“No.”

“It’s old as hell and in bad shape! You could step through it. Stella could fall through! Lemme do this for you.” A note of real distress creeps into Michael’s voice, and Alex frowns.

“Why is this so important to you?” He rolls his thumbs over Michael’s hipbones, trying to reassure them both that Michael’s here and there’s nothing that can hurt him.

“Just wanna do something nice for you.”

Michael’s caramel eyes are even hotter than the rest of him, and Alex leans in to kiss the moue of his mouth relaxed and slow before he gets burned. By the time he pulls back, those blazing eyes are calm and sleepy and satisfied.

“You know I don’t need you to do things for me to stick around, right? The porch thing can wait for the weather to cool off. I love you for more than just what your hands can do.”

“Yeah, I know. My mouth’s a damn good selling point too.”

Alex narrows his eyes and digs his fingertips into the skin above Michael’s waistband. That self-deprecation—sometimes it’s just his way of joking, and sometimes it’s a sign that he needs reminding of Alex’s love in a way he’ll really understand. It can be hard to tell, so Alex errs on the side of caution and trails a line of kisses from the corner of Michael’s mouth all the way to the hollow of his throat, where a light sheen of sweat is already gathered, and lower still until Alex’s mouth rests over the beat of his heart. A heavy sigh rocks Michael’s body, and it comes out a little shuddery and surrendering.

“Working with Liz in the lab is incredible. To have someone with her brain to bounce ideas off of and collaborate on projects? Literally a dream come true. But it’s also kind of a lot. And I’m not picking up as many shifts at the junkyard anymore, and I miss working with my hands. ‘S the only half-decent substitute for music I ever found, and I miss it, is all. _And,”_ he rubs the back of Alex’s neck, “and, I wanna do something nice for you. For real. It’s not about feeling like I owe you. I love you, so I wanna do a little something that makes your life a little easier, yeah?”

Alex sighs against Michael’s sternum and slides his hands from his hips around to the small of his back, trying to wrap him up completely. Sometimes his heart just gets so full he has to work to keep it from bursting out of his chest and making a mess.

“Okay. Okay. But only when someone else is here. I’m serious about not letting you get hurt.”

“Cross my heart,” Michael croons, and he settles into Alex’s lap, while Alex kisses the side of his neck and combs his fingers through his hair and resigns himself to his third shower that day.

* * *

Aliens, apparently, can’t get sunburned. Alex bites his tongue instead of asking if aliens can get skin cancer thirty years down the road—but even so, Michael seems content to wear the damn sunscreen as long as Alex is the one putting it on him.

“You gonna be sitting out there with me?” Michael asks as Alex rubs lotion into his shoulders.

“For a little while. And I’m definitely going to be a pain in the ass reminding you to take breaks.”

“Then maybe you should wear sunscreen too…” Michael wiggles his fingers suggestively.

“I figured you wanted to get started sometime this morning,” Alex says dryly, pointedly _not_ imagining Michael’s hands sweeping over his body, all heat under the cool layer of the lotion, the dual sensations raising goosebumps all over his skin…Alex shifts in his chair to readjust himself and ignores Michael’s knowing laugh.

“You get to have all the fun,” Michael says with a saucy wink, dropping his hat on his head and clattering down the stairs and out into the bright day. He drives off and comes back a while later with a truck full of wood and tools and a cooler he sets at Alex’s feet and tells him to “help himself;” it’s frankly a menagerie of refreshment options: water and sports drinks, a couple beers, ginger ale, and a bright yellow box Alex hasn’t seen in almost twenty years.

“Popsicles?” He calls over to Michael, who’s unloading the truck.

“Of course!” He hefts several long sections of wood onto his shoulder and carefully stacks them beside the sagging corner of the porch. He’s probably using his abilities to lessen the load, but the show of strength still has Alex popping an ice cube into his mouth and sucking hard as Michael dusts his hands off and swaggers Alex’s way. “Gotta keep that core temperature down, right?” Michael pants, right before bending down right in front of Alex to snag a bottle of water.

God, it’s obscene how that thin white shirt clings to every contour of muscle and skin and the long crease of his spine—how the waistband of his jeans puckers up and gives Alex the briefest glimpse of his tailbone as he bends forward. It’s too fucking hot for this. The grin Michael’s wearing as he pops back up says he knows it, too, and is having the time of his life playing with fire. Alex arches an eyebrow at him, but all Michael does is wink and go bounding off again.

Alex only intended to watch Michael until he got started and check in throughout the day to make sure he was staying hydrated. But it’s sweet enough even to deny the weather watching Michael work, how methodical he is, how patient and centered and _happy._ And every time he glances up to see Alex watching him from the rocking chair on the other side of the porch from where he’s working, Michael grins so big his eyes sparkle and crinkle up at the corners, and it makes Alex sigh and stay out fifteen more minutes—and then it happens all over again.

The day only heats up more as the sun climbs further in the sky, the air oppressive and heavy and scorching Alex’s lungs with every breath. Just after lunch, as Alex is cleaning up in the kitchen and Michael has gone back outside, Alex watches through the window as Michael sets his hat aside, strips his shirt off, and dumps an entire bottle of water over his head. He wipes his face off with his discarded shirt and shakes his dark, clinging curls like a dog, and stretches luxuriously, skin glimmering and damp and sweet.

Fucking _delicious._ The arousal that’s simmered in Alex’s blood all morning comes roaring to the surface—he wants to rake his nails down Michael’s chest, leaving behind welts all pink and stinging; he wants to feel the heat of the sun running his fingers through Michael’s hair as he crushes their mouths together. Alex finishes washing his hands, straightens his shoulders, and marches outside.

Enough work has been done today; it’s Alex’s turn, now.

But when he steps over the threshold, he sees Michael crouched beside the cooler, fishing around in the popsicle box, holding white-wrapped popsicles up to the sun and peering through them. Finally finding the flavor he was looking for, he nods to himself, closes the cooler with his foot, and retreats back to the yard.

On high alert, Alex tracks everything. He can’t help himself. The faint crinkle of cellophane and ice as Michael strips away the packaging; every wavery motion of those flyaway curls as Michael rolls his head to stretch out his stiff neck; every minute flex of every visible heat-slicked muscle as Michael leans against the shady side of the house. Eyes falling half-closed, Michael rests just the tip of the sticky red treat in the cradle of his full, slack lips. Alex fists his hands around the overheated, split wood of the old porch railing like it’s Michael’s wrists he’s holding and grinding hard into the wall behind him. God, he wants to rip the popsicle out of Michael’s hand and crush it into the dust with the toe of his boot and suck the sticky syrup from his mouth and hands and throat. The summer’s high cicada whine sounds like a warning. Michael tilts his head back and, with a twist of his wrist, swallows the whole thin length in a single smooth slide. The obscene _slurp_ of his pursed, red lips is loud even over the radio still pumping out music.

If Alex stroked his throat, would he feel that deep-throat chill from the inside out?

Michael catches a pink droplet of syrup on his thumb and smears it across his lower lip, and Alex’s patience breaks. Startled, Michael glances up at the sound of Alex descending the stairs, and his mouth splits into an infuriating smirk as Alex strides across the yard to him.

“There you are,” he says, sucking at another drip on his finger. His eyes gleam like a cat’s. “Want a taste?”

Alex takes a deep breath and flicks his eyes from Michael’s dusty boots to the knowing curl of his lips. Michael likes to tease. Alex isn’t known for giving out rewards for bad behavior…but maybe this one time wouldn’t hurt. He takes a step closer; Michael bends back, all liquid and hot. They dance until Michael’s shoulders hit the rough wood, his hips still arched Alex’s way. He shudders at the rough scrape on his bare skin; he sighs out an _mmm_ as Alex covers his bare chest with his own, a deliberate motion meant to tease him with the texture of the fabric. As Alex leans in to whisper in his ear, he can _smell_ the cherry sweetness on his breath, feel the still-cool brush of it against his cheek.

“You’re done for today,” he says, light and low, plucking the popsicle out of Michael’s hand. Michael doesn’t make another noise, but his fingers curl in Alex’s belt loops like he always does when he’s surrendering. Alex kisses the spot behind Michael’s ear, just the bares brush of his lips, and says, “You’re going to finish up, put away what needs to be put away. You’re going to go inside and wash your hands. And then you’re going to come to the bedroom and find me…and you’re going to fuck me. Do you understand?”

Michael bobs his head in a nod and, unable to resist, Alex wraps a gentle hand around his throat, not putting on any pressure at all, just to feel him swallow and gasp.

“Good,” Alex says. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

And he stalks off, managing to hide his grin until his back is turned and Michael is already scrambling to obey behind him.

The sheets are still cool and inviting when Alex slips into bed after stripping down and taking care of his leg, but they won’t be for long, not with Alex still flush and overheated and working himself up further as he slides his hands down to his thighs, down to stroke his cock to full mast. He can already feel sweat gathering between his shoulder blades, even as he drizzles his fingers with lube and rubs at his entrance, breaching himself slowly. He’s quick and methodical at opening himself up—Michael loves foreplay, loves taking his time, loves bringing Alex off once or even twice before he even thinks about his own pleasure—and Alex loves indulging Michael. But he’s got something else in mind this time, and hey: if Michael wanted to be _indulged_ today, he shouldn’t have been such a tease.

By the time Michael appears in the doorway, mouth still cherry-red, hair drying in tight little ringlets gone even more gold in the summer, Alex is more than ready for him. Michael strips his pants off without needing to be told and climbs on top of Alex, laving long, needy kisses against his mouth while Alex palms his hardness and arches their hips together.

“ _Alex,”_ he groans, rubbing his hands across Alex’s chest, rolling his thumbs over his nipples, waiting for permission to guide himself inside.

“Fuck me,” Alex says, stealing another kiss.

And god, Michael is perfect, perfect, every goddamn time; somehow, he knows the _perfect_ rhythm, the _perfect_ pace, the _perfect_ angle to stroke inside him, to send fire up and down every single one of Alex’s nerve endings, to make it hurt and make it good and make it last. Alex wraps his hands around Michael’s biceps, trembling with strain, and Michael’s eyes fall shut, his teeth digging into his bottom lip as his hips move faster, harder, making Alex reward him with a long, eager moan. He always reacts like that to Alex’s hands on him—all greedy and worshipful all at once. Glorious. He moans Alex’s name in between grunts of exertion; he whimpers and mewls every time Alex yanks at his hair—a constant vice, if Alex is honest, but he loves the texture of it curling all around his fingers, loves how sensitive Michael’s scalp is, loves how intimate it feels to hold on to him. Alex spreads his legs and bucks his hips in time with Michael’s rhythm, squeezing and releasing him and teasing him until Michael is twitching and trembling balanced on the edge.

“Come,” Alex pants, wrapping his hand more securely in Michael’s hair and _pulling._ “Michael, _come._ ”

And he does, a few strokes later, sinking his teeth into Alex’s shoulder and groaning through it as his hips twitch helplessly. He rolls aside to let Alex breathe, but Alex just rolls with him, humming at the delicious soreness of his muscles and biting at Michael’s jaw.

“You’re not done yet,” he pants, and Michael gives a little raw shudder as his cock twitches. “You’ve been crying out for attention here all day.” He presses the pad of his thumb to Michael’s lips and immediately feels the kittenish brush of his tongue. “So you’re going to suck me off, aren’t you?”

“Yes—yeah—yes—” Michael babbles, squirming out from under Alex all eager instead of waiting for Alex to get back into position. All Alex manages to do is move onto his back and Michael is crawling into his lap, rubbing his stubbled cheeks against the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, practically purring as he licks the crease of Alex’s hip. He doesn’t touch Alex’s cock, throbbing and desperate, until Alex’s hand finds its way back into his hair and guides him there, and then he dives right in, swallowing it into the back of his throat and _sucking_ as he moans in satisfaction.

Alex’s hips jerk forward at the vibration, that extra edge of sensation almost too much for how close Alex is and with all the wet, clutching heat of Michael’s throat around his cock—and the slide and thrust of Alex’s cock against his soft palate, his stroking tongue, his swollen lips, all still dyed a bright fuck-me red, makes Michael moan again in turn, a barrage of sense information that lights Alex up like an electric storm and has him coming in mere minutes. And Michael doesn’t pull off—he never does—just pants and gulps and swallows around Alex’s release, sucking him through it and even after, as Alex pets at him and lets him come down until he gets too sensitive and has to pull him off and up to rest against his chest.

“Fuck,” Michael rasps, kissing right over Alex’s heart, laughing and nudging him with his forehead. “You like the show or something?”

“You might say that,” Alex drawls, scratching Michael’s head as he closes his eyes and leans into the touch. Ugh, they’re so sticky and gross, they both need like four showers, but the heat steals over them regardless of the discomfort—the heat wave outside is one thing, but the heat of Michael always makes Alex all sleepy and safe-feeling, so he closes his eyes and basks like a lizard on the rocks.

“Best four bucks I ever spent.”

Alex flicks Michael on the ear at that and, as Michael burrows into him, starts planning his revenge.

**Author's Note:**

> ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;)


End file.
